Authors: Christopher Nuttall
The First Space Lord took control of the display. “There was a great deal of arguing about the best way to proceed,” he continued. “However, the upshot of it was that
Ark Royal
was best employed in raiding New Russia, along with a couple of dozen older ships from minor powers. If there is a chance to strike some blows against the aliens, we should take them.”
Ted wondered, absently, just what deals had been struck to convince the Royal Navy to take the risk. The aliens had to know which tramlines the human race would need to use to reach New Russia, which meant that those systems would probably be heavily defended. There
had
been some political disputes between Britain and Russia over the years. Perhaps the Russians on Earth had offered to settle those in Britain’s favour in exchange for the raid. Or perhaps the Admiralty had reasoned that knocking the aliens back on their heels would help win time to prepare Earth’s defences.
“I would be delighted if you kicked the aliens off New Russia completely,” the First Space Lord continued, “but I doubt it would be possible. Instead, your orders are to give the aliens a nasty surprise and then attempt to make contact with any surviving humans on New Russia. The Russians have provided a contact team, which will actually land on the planet’s surface – if it seems possible. They’ve agreed that the final decision will be up to you.”
“Brave of them,” Fitzwilliam said.
Ted couldn't disagree. The aliens might well have exterminated most of the planet’s population from orbit ... or simply taken control of the high orbitals and ignored the human population. But flying a shuttle through the alien positions would be tricky, almost suicidal. It was possible, he supposed, that the aliens could be decoyed away, but after the aliens had been fooled by the sensor decoys he’d deployed they’d be more careful about what they believed to be real.
“Precisely how you reach New Russia and engage the enemy will be your choice, of course,” the First Space Lord said. “However, we would like you to carry out the mission within the month.”
“That would give us time to outflank any alien pickets,” Ted mused. There were several tramlines that led through a series of useless or underdeveloped star systems, systems he suspected the aliens would probably ignore. But it wouldn't take more than a single stroke of bad luck for the aliens to get a fix on their position and scramble to attack. “As long as you didn't mind us taking the long road.”
The First Space Lord smiled. Traditionally, the Admiralty issued its orders and expected its subordinates to come up with their own operational plans. It made sense, Ted knew; there was no way to micromanage military operations across interstellar distances. The situation might change between a system CO sending a request for orders and receiving a response from the Admiralty, leaving the orders already out of date. But given how badly shocked everyone had been by the war, it wasn't impossible for the Admiralty to start issuing orders that tried to cover every little detail.
He was a CO himself
, Ted remembered.
He knows better than to try to micromanage
.
“There is a catch,” the First Space Lord added.
Ted scowled, inwardly. There was
always
a catch.
“You’ll be taking a handful of embedded reporters with you,” the First Space Lord said. “I’m afraid it isn't negotiable.”
“Reporters,” Ted repeated.
“Reporters,” the First Space Lord confirmed. “I will expect you to show them every courtesy.”
Ted felt his scowl deepening. The last time he’d had to deal with reporters had been before his assignment to
Ark Royal
, when he’d been a mere Lieutenant. His CO at the time had told him that it was a perfect opportunity to broaden his mind and learn how to handle newcomers, something that Ted had clung to until he’d actually
met
the reporters. After that, he’d been convinced he’d somehow offended his Captain and the assignment was actually a non-too-subtle punishment.
“This is actually quite important,” the First Space Lord said. “Have you been following the mood on Earth?”
Ted shook his head. The First Space Lord nodded to the PR officer, who stepped forward.
“The public mood started out as wary, but confident,” the officer said. His nametag read Abramczyk. “After New Russia, it crashed right down and we had a whole series of riots led by people who thought that the entire world was about to come to an end. Then you pulled off your victory and the public mood started climbing upwards again.”
“Panicky civilians,” Fitzwilliam said.
“The average civilian knows nothing about the realities of naval combat,” Abramczyk reminded him. “They assume that the aliens can reach us in seconds and act on that assumption. The decision to try to cover up some of the details of New Russia didn’t really help, as it was poorly done and the truth leaked out. Having reporters on your ship may be a big step forwards towards rebuilding the public’s trust.”
Ted didn't – quite – sneer. “Sir,” he said, addressing the First Space Lord, “is that
important
?”
The First Space Lord didn't seem annoyed by the question. “Right now, the government is in a very weak position,” he said. “A number of MPs are threatening to desert – or are facing the risk of having their seats challenged in recall elections. If they lose their seats, we may face a reformed government that wants peace with the aliens, peace at any price. And Britain isn't the only country having problems. Both Russia and America may face political disasters in the next few months.”
“The aliens timed their attacks well,” Ted observed.
“Indeed they did,” the First Space Lord said.
Fitzwilliam looked over at Commander Steenblik. “Coincidence?”
“We don’t know,” Steenblik admitted. “It’s quite possible that they were watching us for years before finally starting the war. There were all of those reports about unknown starships being detected on long-range sensors ...”
The First Space Lord cleared his throat. “You’ll take the reporters and like it,” he growled, addressing Ted. “You’ll have them bound by the War Powers Act, even the foreigners, so you can put them in irons if they really make a nuisance of themselves. But it is vitally important that we regain the public’s trust.”
Ted sighed. “Very well, sir,” he said. He had a vision of the reporters walking through his ship, harassing his crew. “I shall have them assigned quarters onboard
Ark Royal
. However, I will not tolerate my crew being harassed.”
“That is understandable,” the First Space Lord said. “You will have the power to deal with them, if necessary.”
Ted sighed, again. The War Powers Act
did
give commanding officers considerable leeway to deal with reporters and other subhuman forms of life, but it was subject to review. He
could
put a reporter in irons ... and, if the Admiralty found it politically embarrassing, they could renounce him after the war.
“Understood, sir,” he said. “We’ll do our very best.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Captain, James decided, as he waited in the shuttlebay, must have realised that James had been speaking to the First Space Lord behind the Captain’s back. It was the only explanation, he felt, for why the Captain had given
him
the assignment for babysitting the reporters, even though there were more junior officers – including Lieutenant Abramczyk – who could have handled the task. But then, he had to admit, he certainly deserved some kind of punishment for breaking the Captain’s trust. Having to deal with reporters was definitely cruel and unusual punishment.
He shifted uncomfortably inside his dress uniform as the shuttle settled slowly onto the deck, a dull clunk echoing round the shuttlebay as it landed. The PR staffers always looked photogenic, something that had puzzled James until he’d realised that they were trying to impress reporters too ignorant or stupid to know that a clean uniform wasn't always the sign of a competent officer. James had served under one commanding officer who had insisted that his senior officers always wear their dress uniforms, even though regulations only required them for special occasions. He wondered what had happened to that CO as the shuttle’s hatch opened, revealing the reporters.
They weren't a prepossessing bunch, he decided, as they stumbled out onto the deck. A couple wore clothes that looked military, at least when seen from a distance, and several more wore khaki jackets that would have been better suited to embedding with the ground forces, rather than the Royal Navy. The remainder wore a wide variety of civilian clothes, ranging from simple tracksuits to low-cut shirts and miniskirts that would be sure to draw attention from the ship’s crew. A less professional bunch, James decided, would be hard to find. Even the entertainers who made their way from starship to starship looked more professional.
He stepped forward, pasting a smile on his face. His family had taught him how to face the press, although none of their training had covered this exact scenario. The downside of being born into the aristocracy, he’d been told time and time again, was that everything you did was considered newsworthy. You could fart in bed, his grandfather had told him, and someone would consider it news. And while one set of reporters would consider an aristocrat someone to admire, another set would consider him someone to tear down at all costs. Being in the navy, he'd thought, would preserve him from their particular brand of savagery. Clearly, he’d been wrong.
“Welcome onboard
Ark Royal
,” he said, as he surveyed the reporters. Several of them carried cameras and other forms of recording equipment; he’d have to make sure that none of it interfered with the ship’s systems. “If you’ll come with me ...?”
He led them through a maze of corridors and into a small briefing compartment. Two junior crewmen had spent the day transferring all of the boxes of spare parts out of the compartment, just so he could brief the reporters. He scowled inwardly at the waste of time it represented, even though he knew that neither he nor Captain Smith had been offered a choice. The reporters had to be humoured, at least until they crossed the line so badly that no one could argue when the Captain threw them into the brig.
“Please, be seated,” he said, wondering idly which of them would make the first complaint. The overweight man pretending to be a naval officer or the blonde-haired girl who looked thinner than a plastic doll? James had seen
children
with more meat on their bones than her. “We have a great deal to get through and not much time.”
The reporters should have been briefed on Nelson Base, but James had already privately resolved to run through everything again, anyway. It wouldn't be the first time, Lieutenant Abramczyk had warned him, where a PR officer on a base had neglected to tell the reporters what they needed to hear, fearing that it would destroy his career. James hadn't been surprised at all to hear it. Reporters, in his experience, were rarely smart enough to realise that the military’s rules and regulations existed for a reason.
“How many of you,” he asked, “have embedded on a military starship before?”
A handful of hands – four in all – went up. James sighed, inwardly. At least they weren't
all
virgins. It wasn't a reassuring thought. Even modern carriers suffered their fair share of accidents when new crewmembers moved in ... and some of those accidents were lethal. The reporters were even less prepared for
Ark Royal
than James himself.
“Right,” he said. “This is a military starship – and a very dangerous environment. Cabins have been assigned to you; I strongly recommend that you remain in your cabins unless you have an escort. If you choose to leave your cabins, bear in mind that there are some parts of the ship that are completely off-limits without prior permission and an escort. Those locations are detailed in your briefing notes.”
He paused. “I understand that you will want interviews with crewmen,” he added. “Such interviews will be arranged upon request. I advise you not to interfere with crewmen as they go about their duties, or to attempt to force them to be interviewed.”
“But you’ll have a chance to brief those you let speak to us,” one of the older reporters objected. “We want unprepared interviews.”
James tried not to roll his eyes. If the reporter had suspected that every one of the prepared interviewees would toe the party line, he shouldn't have said it out loud. Or was he laying the groundwork for attacking the navy if the interviews didn’t turn up anything he wanted? Or was he simply an idiot?
“None of them will be briefed ahead of time,” James said. He shook his head, then pressed onwards. “All of your reports will be viewed by the PR staff before they are transmitted home. Certain pieces of information, outlined in your briefing notes, are not supposed to be included in public reports. If you include them, you will be placed in the brig and left there until we return to Earth, whereupon you will be handed over to the police.”
“The aliens can't intercept our news broadcasts,” another reporter objected. “Those rules are designed to protect the government, not humanity.”
“That’s as may be,” James said, feeling his head start to pound. Perhaps the Captain had something he could drink to relieve his feelings. He’d sooner face a mob of aliens stark naked than reporters. No doubt he would be made to look really ugly when the reporters started releasing their reports. “The point is that operational security cannot be violated without consequences.”